


An Unbearable Lightness

by asuralucier



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Artistic Medical License, Asexual!Roy, Canon Typical Everything, Conflicted!Roy, Drug Abuse, Eventual Royed but it's mostly gen, Gen, Hughes means well, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roy has congenital analgesia, Roy is kind of a hooker but not really, Underaged!Ed, Wobbly Medical Alchemy, painslut!ed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: “Relax. Hold your horses, Mustang,” Hughes said. “I don’t go around telling kids that you’re a hooker.”Canon-Divergent AU: after the Ishvalan War, Roy Mustang retires and goes to work for Madame Christmas. When his old army buddy Hughes sends him a new client, a blond, loudmouthed pipsqueak whoisn’t even legal, Roy is less than amused.





	1. The Client

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags! I was in the mood for some weird gen with feelings but I also can’t get painslut!Ed out of my head so this is an attempt to meld all of these things. This has roughly 15 chapters and will be updated monthly until completion.

“Well, I’m off for the night,” said Roy to Madame Christmas. He had thought of her as Madame Christmas ever since he was eight-years-old and the name stuck. It was never going to be not-weird, but he was used to it by now. “I’ve handed in all my receipts to Lisa.” 

“Have a nice night,” she looked him up and down. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I never do, much,” Roy said. “If I end up making something I’ll keep some warm for you.” 

This did not garner much of a response, though Roy already knew it wouldn't. Madame Christmas thought that coffee was acceptable as sustenance.

As he turned to leave, Roy heard his name being called down the hall and saw Lisa striding towards him with purpose. This was not so unusual, Roy was usually terrible about his receipts and the girls weren’t shy about letting him have it. 

“Oh good, you haven’t left,” Lisa said, in a voice that didn’t suggest she wanted to yell at him, “A client’s just come in for you, but um.” 

“Tell them to book in tomorrow,” said Roy. “I’m tired. I’m going to get something to eat and then I’m going to bed.” 

“He says he knows you,” Lisa said. “Well, not you, personally. But he’s brought a letter from the guy you sometimes drink with.” 

“...Hughes?” 

Roy was nearly two years out from the military and had no real desire to go back. But the state of things was clear all throughout even the most civilian streets of Central and the war dug into his head at night. Maes Hughes turned up once in a while for a few beers; they’d attended the Academy together and nearly died together. On the back of that, their first attempts at drinks involved Hughes trying to cajole Roy back into the military but Roy refused consistently enough for Hughes to finally quit asking. So now Hughes just turned up for drinks. 

“Yeah, him. I think,” Lisa shifted from one foot to the other, “Look, just tell the client to go away? He’s a _kid_.” 

 

“I understand you have a letter from Lieutenant Colonel Hughes,” Roy said to the blond pipsqueak in the waiting area. “Give it to me.” 

The kid (how old _was_ he?) extracted an envelope from his red coat and stuck it out towards Roy without fanfare. Roy examined the envelope and noted that the red wax indeed held Hughes’s seal. The man’s handwriting, with its jagged loops was also unmistakable. 

“Do you know where this is?” 

“It’s a hostess bar,” said the kid. “Or a brothel. Depends on who you ask.” 

“If you know that,” Roy sighed, rubbing across his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Why in Leto’s name are you here? You can’t drink. You can’t --” 

“I’m _fifteen_ ; it’ll be my birthday soon,” the kid stood, and crossed his arms. He was probably trying to make himself look taller. It wasn’t working, “I’m not a _kid_. And I’m a State Alchemist.” 

“You’re too young to drink, and you’re too young to fuck, you’re a kid,” Roy snapped back. And then he stopped, “...What did you say?” 

“I’m a State Alchemist,” the kid repeated. He took a pocket-watch out of his coat. Roy had one too, but it was locked away. “I’ve been one since I was twelve. It’s a bit funny, don’t you think? That Amestris will send me to war but I can’t have a beer or fuck.” 

“And your arm is automail,” Roy had to reach back several drinking sessions with Hughes to pluck out some information. Apparently there were these two brothers that he was boarding and -- “Is your leg?” 

“Yep, see?” 

_”His name is Edward Elric,” Hughes said to his beer. “He kind of reminds me of you.”_

Roy made a mental note to tell Hughes that he had a thing or two coming if he thought he and Edward Elric had anything in common. 

 

“Look, Edward.” 

“Ed,” said Ed, who suddenly seemed more amenable since he had Roy talking. 

“The military is pretty fucked up, yeah? I know that. ‘S why I left. But I can’t help you, Ed.” Roy turned to walk away, “I don’t do that. Wait a few years, and if you’re still --” 

Ed pressed forward, “What if I said I didn’t want sex?” 

“A lot of people who come to me don’t want sex,” Roy pointed out. “But they never know what they want. And in the end it’s all about sex anyway. It’d be too weird for me. No thanks.” 

“...How about you give me some pills? Pretty sure that’s not about sex, at all.” 

“I,” Roy sighed again and drew out Hughes’s letter and unsealed it. The note was short, succinct and ended with a hearty declaration of an IOU and an invite to dinner the following week. Roy expelled a long breath, “...Fucking Hughes.” 

“Will you help me?” said Ed. 

“Do you know why I have them?” Roy stared at him, willing his gaze to be black and hollow and at last Ed flinched and lowered his eyes. 

“...No. The Lieutenant Colonel wouldn’t tell me. And I won’t ask. And I can pay.” 

Lisa had returned to her post at reception and was now making quite a show of sorting receipts but like any girl with half her wits about her, Roy knew she was listening in on every word. After waiting a prolonged moment, as to not arouse further suspicion, Roy stood and nodded towards the door, “Come on, I’ll walk you out. Don’t come back here, okay? Not yet.” 

 

Once they’d walked a block, Roy glanced at Ed, who was shuffling along behind him, “My pills are at home. I don’t keep any at the bar. It’s bad practice.”

“I can see that,” said Ed. 

“I’m not going to be supplying you regularly,” said Roy. “So whatever shit you’re dealing with, you deal with it without involving me. If you get Hughes to write me another IOU, I’ll string you up. Don’t think I won’t.” 

“It’s not illegal to kill kids, either,” Ed nodded. “Got it.” 

“That’s not what I --” Roy suddenly remembered how tired he was. Sometimes, he wished some of the tiredness could be sucked out of him instead of all the useful stuff. “Never mind. My house is here.” 

 

It was weird, Roy supposed, for a twenty-something war veteran to move back with his aunt and take refuge in her attic. But if he wanted company Madame Christmas didn’t stop him. It would have been ironic, given her profession. Most days, she was so preoccupied with the goings-on of the brothel that he never did manage to see her. There were secrets in that house, and Roy knew it made his aunt feel better that someone at least made an effort to be home. 

The house itself was well kept. There were no pictures, but there was an old knitted throw folded across one of the sofas and a heavy oak coffee table he knew had once belonged to his father who was an avid collector of various knick-knacks. The table was easily the ugliest thing in her house, but Roy knew neither of them would ever venture to throw it out. 

“My room is up there,” Roy gestured to the wooden ladder, “Stay down here and don’t touch anything.” 

“Can I at least sit down?” 

“Yeah,” Roy waited until Ed had parked himself down on the sofa before disappearing upstairs. 

 

Roy’s room was narrow, consisting of a low bookcase with a few ragged military volumes that he couldn’t bear to throw away, although he could hardly give a cogent reason why. Then there was a chest of drawers that held his clothes and a mattress placed directly beneath a skylight. Central’s skies were too filthy with light to see any stars. 

He finally found what he was looking for and after a moment’s consideration, he extracted a clean sock from his drawer and folded up the pills in the fabric. 

Ed was lying supine on the couch, fighting a yawn when Roy came back down and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Thought you couldn’t sleep.” 

“I’ve been awake for,” Ed had to think, “Nearly eleven days now. Al likes it, ‘cause I can keep him company.” 

“Al?” 

“My brother,” said Ed and proffered no further information. This gratified Roy even as it piqued his curiosity. “But I get tired, you know?” 

“I know,” Roy nodded. “Here, this should last you a week. Maybe more.” 

“Is that a _sock_ ,” Ed laughed. The sound was chirpy and chipped, uncharitable. 

“I’m not a drug lord,” said Roy. “Don’t have the necessary paraphernalia; the sock is clean, anyway. You can take it or leave it. Can I ask you a question?” 

“You can ask,” Ed shrugged. He took the sock, gave it a sniff, and tucked it away. 

“...When I was still a State Alchemist,” Roy started and immediately wondered if he gave too much away before he even started. But then again, Hughes had the tendency to ramble and Ed probably already knew the bare bones, even if he wasn’t letting on. “I was supplied by the Military Infirmary. It was a condition of my service. I’m sure if.” 

“Were you bullied into it?” Ed asked. 

“I was given a choice,” said Roy. “Didn’t like it, exactly. But still made it, and did the best I could.”

“I’m not like you,” said Ed. 

“I know that too,” Roy assured him. “Trust me, I _know_ that.” 

Ed bit his lip and then seemed to remember himself, “How much do I owe you? I’ve only got --” 

“Forget it,” Roy said. Again, his bones bore down on him suddenly and a wave of exhaustion swept over the whole of his body. Enough to not feel like working out how much these things usually cost. It was one of the reasons Roy was terrible with receipts. “I’m coming to Hughes’s house next week anyway. Just tell him I”m gonna drink him out of the house. He'd better be prepared.” 

“I can do that,” Ed grinned. He stood and rolled his shoulders. “Thanks um, Major, right?” 

“Captain,” Roy smiled at him a bit sideways. “But I’m a civilian now.”


	2. The Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, I might have gone a bit mad and wrote 6 chapters before I went to bed. I hope you guys continue to enjoy!

It wasn’t until Roy had closed the door after Ed that he supposed the polite thing to do would have to offer the kid a sandwich or something to eat. Roy entertained very briefly the notion of going outside to invite Ed back into the house, but then every other bit of Roy that hated (and he did _hate_ ) good polite society was pulling towards kindness as a bad idea. 

Besides, Gracia Hughes was a great cook. If Ed was indeed boarding there, Roy doubted the kid would be lacking for food. He certainly looked like he could stand to eat more, but that was something else. 

Roy went into the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich with some sliced leftover cold cuts, and it wasn’t until he’d gotten upstairs that he realized that he had nicked his finger. It was a bother, but Roy went downstairs in search of a bandage; he didn’t find one. And then against his better judgement, Roy rang Maes Hughes at home. 

“Did Edward come see you?” said Hughes, the bastard. 

Over the years, Roy liked to think that he learned from his mistakes. He made a lot, so it was easy enough sort through what was what. Or maybe it wasn’t. 

“If that was your idea of a joke,” Roy examined the small gash that the knife had made upon his skin. The imprint bled profusely and Roy tucked the the receiver between his ear and shoulder and clicked his fingers. A thin flame, blue and precise appeared and he held the open wound against it until the skin around it had melted and closed back up. How second-rate. 

This done, Roy turned his attention back to the matter at hand --“Then it isn’t _funny_. How’d you even square my job with --” 

“Relax. Hold your horses, Mustang,” Hughes said. “I don’t go around telling kids that you’re a hooker.” 

“I’m not a hooker,” said Roy. This was a conversation that they’d had a million times by now. Hughes ribbing him from a distance, Roy still not dealing with it in a healthy way despite Hughes being determined to provide him with ample practice. After that, the argument would circle the drain and drag away any shit with it. Or at least, that was the idea. 

Hughes was quiet for a long moment, “Hey, give me a minute? I’m going to switch to the extension in the study.” 

“Sure,” Roy held the line and took a bite of his sandwich; the bread was stale and the cold cuts too salty. He went to fetch a glass of milk, which was sour. He needed groceries. 

“Still there?” said Hughes.

“Falling apart without you,” Roy deadpanned. “Everything okay?” 

“How was Ed?” 

“Mouthy, short, not nearly as endearing as you clearly hoped he’d be,” Roy poured the rest of the milk down the sink. 

“Roy, be serious for a second,” Hughes said. “He isn’t well. Well, both of them aren’t. But Al’s problems are a bit -- above your paygrade? Plus he’s only fourteen.” 

“Oh, that’s rich,” Roy bit out a laugh. “I’m sure there’s a world of difference. Is that why you told Ed about my pills?” 

“The military grade stuff doesn’t work,” Hughes sighed. “You should know better than anyone else. Too many regulations or what have you. Besides, the Doc’s a bit like you.” 

“Which means what?” Roy glowered. 

“He’s a bit hung up on the fact that Ed’s fifteen,” said Hughes. “Weren’t you thirteen when you started --” 

“That was more than ten years ago; I’m pretty sure I was why they changed the regulations. You remember? They wanted to make things more _humane_.” Said Roy, his mouth twisted at that last word and it left an unpleasant taste on the tip of his tongue. “And besides, I wasn’t stupid enough to tell them it didn’t _work_.” 

“And what you do now,” Hughes ignored the dig. “Does it work?” 

“It works better,” said Roy. “At least, according to consensus. Hughes, what’s wrong with him? The kid.” 

“There are ghosts in his head,” said Hughes. “Isn’t that how these things tend to go?” There were at least three other questions buried in that, but Roy was determined to ignore all of them. 

He parried with a question of his own, “What sort of ghosts?” 

“I don’t know,” Hughes admitted. “I have my guesses.”

Roy sighed. He was tired all over again. The sandwich was a wash and a glance at the clock mounted on the wall above the sink told him it was late. He had an early start tomorrow. The world suddenly seemed unfair and heavy and his mind, completely without Roy’s explicit permission, went to the pipsqueak who’d just been lying there on his sofa. The world must be heavy for him, too. 

“Hughes.” 

“Yes?” 

“I’m going to turn in,” Roy went through the motions of a yawn that turned into the real deal seconds in, “Go hug your wife or something.” 

 

Roy didn’t tend to have early starts to his day. But his body didn’t seem to get the message and woke him like clockwork like he was still an army man. Like it was all he was doomed to be. It was barely five minutes past five and the skylight above boasted a dull gray light. It was probably going to rain later. 

_”You’re going to kill him, Captain! They’ve already ripped his arm out! They’ve damaged all of his nerves! You’re You’re not trained in medical alchemy and --”_

_“You will_ shut up _and let me work,” Roy snapped. “I can’t think with you yipping like a dog in my ear. Hey -- hey, you -- what’s your rank?”_

_“Private First Class, my name’s Halle.” The man-shaped thing, barely days away from what seemed to be a boyish shell tried to smile at Roy and Roy hurt for him in his head. “I’m from East City. I have a fiancee. I can’t die yet. I don’t want to die.”_

_“Good, because you’re not going to,” Roy said. “I can even give you your arm back. But it’s gonna hurt.”_

_“Captain Mustang, if you put this man’s arm back you’ll kill him. We’re not all like you, you --”_

_“I what?” Roy raised himself up to find a barrel pointed snugly against his temple. “Sergeant Hawkeye, the longer we stand here, the more blood Private Halle is going to lose. Then he is really going to die. Do you want to share his death with me?”_

_“ -- Captain,” she squared her shoulders. Roy noted that she had blonde hair tucked underneath her hood and maybe would be quite pretty without blood and dust caked to her person. “No, sir.”_

Roy blinked. His watch read fifteen minutes past seven -- and fuck, he was going to be late. 

 

“You’re late,” said Madame Christmas, who put a piping hot cup of coffee in front of him. Roy sipped it after nodding thanks; the roast was black and strong, just the way he liked it. “And you look like a special hell.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“You seem to need someone around to tell you the truth,” she said. “Are you sure you’re up for working today? Also, what are you wearing?” 

Roy looked down at himself, “...I just rolled out of bed. Shit.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Madame Christmas gestured towards the direction of her office. “Use my office. Get cleaned up, I’ll buy you some time.” 

 

It occurred to Roy that he really should not be working today. But that was Madame Christmas for you; she’d ask you something exactly once and take you at your word. She wasn’t motherly; she was hard as iron and before Roy had turned up as a regular employee, the place was notable for employing no security. It simply didn’t need any. Now and then, Roy did try to intervene and most that Madame Christmas had allowed him to do once after the fact was fetch some ice. The girls giggled about that for days. 

Roy got out of his pyjamas and stepped into his military uniform. It smelled as if it’d been cleaned recently and the collar was reliably stiff. As his aunt thought of everything, there was even a pair of combat-issued boots, freshly shined. 

He winced at himself in the mirror. 

There was a knock, and Roy drew a breath, “Who is it?” 

“It’s Petra,” said a voice that wasn’t unfamiliar. “Madame Christmas thought you might need some help.” 

“I can dress myself fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” 

“What about your face, Roy?” 

Roy looked balefully at the mirror again and went to open the door. Petra was one of the more popular girls at the brothel, likely famed for her flaming red hair and a tattoo of a ghoul wrapped around her left shoulder. She looked him up and down, “Handsome as death itself. Come on. I’m surprised she allows you to work.” 

“Madame Christmas doesn’t allow me to do anything,” Roy groused. “And I don’t look _that_ bad. I’m not bruised or anything.” 

“Oh, honey, if you had tits, you wouldn’t be working today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. Sit in the chair and face the mirror.” Petra turned away from him to lay out various brushes, powders, and other things he didn’t know the names for. 

Roy craned his neck in very real fear that she was going to break out the rouge. But thankfully she didn’t. Petra turned towards him with a particularly intimidating instrument in hand. It reminded Roy of a very angry puffball, “Bruises are fine; they’re hazards of the trade. They even make sure that a client’s nicer to you, sometimes. But the way you look, you just look used up. That’s no good.” 

Roy stayed still as Petra caked layers of who the fuck knew onto his face. He felt rather like he’d been sanded over across a workbench and he couldn’t really move his mouth. 

“See? Good as new. Try not to sweat too much.” 

 

Clients were usually seen, if not at the bar, then in one of the rooms. The rooms were kept neat and the sheets were changed on the hour or as needed and each space was also furnished with a chair and a desk and vaguely reminded Roy of his very first set of digs at the military academy. Considering that a lot of their clients were connected to the military in one way or the other, there was something to be said about cross-promotional familiarity. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Colonel.” 

“...What the hell happened to your face?” said Colonel Henry Douglas. “You’re looking...healthy.” 

Henry Douglas was a bit of a creep, but he was a creep with money. Money and -- let’s just go with strange and exotic tastes and certainly the means to get it. Douglas was Roy’s only morning client and had been for the last ten months. That a military man, currently wringing his hands in a dead-end office in Central would develop in his spare time a _need_ uniquely suited for Roy’s services always before his Thursday morning briefings was but incidental. 

Roy had an urge to scratch at an itch forming like a start of a fire beneath his skin, near his cheek. But he was mindful of Petra’s warning and didn’t. “Sorry I look _healthy_ , Colonel. I’ll make sure to look used up next week. Shall we get started?” 

 

“Is he dead?” 

“He’s fainted from bliss,” said Roy with a shrug. The eight inches of makeup on his face surprisingly held, in the presence of the heat. Colonel Henry Douglas was sprawled out on the bed in only his socks and spectacles. “He’s got ten minutes left on his hour. I’ll wake him up with some smelling salts in a minute.” 

Madame Christmas looked at him with a severe eye, “Roy.” 

“Yes.” 

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” 

Sweat beaded near Roy’s temples practically on command. The world really had a funny way of reminding Roy that it would continue to be unfair and haha, fuck you. “No.” 

“Wake him up,” Madame Christmas turned. “And take the day off.” 

“Is that an order?” 

“Yes it is.” She said, “And please remember to have some lunch, you’ve lost weight.”


	3. The Secret

The sky was gray outside and the clouds looked pregnant, but the ground was dry. A prickle of something that wasn’t quite pain gathered at various points on his face, and Roy was forced to consider the possibility that he was allergic to Petra’s makeup.

Roy tried to remember the last time he’d had a day off and had to go all the way back when he was told to take leave. That was a long time ago. 

Still, Roy tried his best to organize his day into hours. It was only nine in the morning, which meant somewhere, Henry Douglas was crawling into a briefing. Fuck that guy. It was too early for lunch, but it wasn’t too early for groceries. In fact, the local markets were just opening and Roy was able to get various root vegetables, smooth-skinned red potatoes, and glass cabbage at a discount price. Roy wasn’t used to getting discounts, but then he remembered he was still wearing his military uniform having left home in his pyjamas and after that, things made sense. 

Part of him wondered if he should go home and change into something less conspicuous. But home was several blocks away and the military clock in him told him that it was probably a waste of time. 

 

_”Are you Roy Mustang?”_

_No matter how much Roy stretched himself, he was suddenly more and more aware that he was only thirteen and that the men who had come to Madame Christmas’s door in their imposing blue uniforms at nine o’clock at night were simply bigger than he was._

_At thirteen, Roy was getting to be too old for a proper bedtime, but there was something luxurious about lounging around in his pyjamas. He liked it, because his being in pyjamas meant he was less likely to be bothered. The world would go away for a couple of hours until morning._

_“What’s it to you? What are you doing here?”_

_The men hadn’t yet pushed their way inside the door; they seemed content to sneer down at Roy with the ugly dimensions of their authority. Believe it or not, Roy wasn’t a complete stranger to army men trying to barge in his aunt’s house. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what his aunt did, kind of, even though his interests in such things were probably less than other boys his age. But Madame Christmas had always managed to dissuade men from coming into the house._

_“Roy, who’s at the door?”_

_“Army bastards,” Roy said._

_His aunt touched his shoulder, “It’s all right, Roy. I can handle it.”_

_“We don’t wish to cause trouble, ma’am,” said one of the men. “We’ve come to speak to Roy Mustang.”_

_“...Me?” Roy blinked._

_Madame Christmas glanced at him and there was something in her eyes that he’d never seen before. It gave him a bad feeling, kind of like a fish bone scraping by the side of his throat, and Roy had to swallow._

_“If you don’t want to cause any trouble,” said Madame Christmas to the men, “might I have ten minutes with my nephew? It will give me some time to put on the kettle.”_

 

Roy bought some milk and some butter, and that gave him the excuse to go home. After all, he didn’t want the milk to go sour after he’d just bought it. 

“Excuse me!” There was an odd clanging sound behind him, and Roy turned to see a sentient suit of armor waving at him. Okay, apparently today was going to keep on giving whether Roy wanted it to or not. 

“...Do I know you?” 

“No,” said the suit of armor. “But you know my brother. You’re Roy Mustang, the retired captain, right? Why are you in uniform?” 

“I uh,” _rolled out of bed this morning to go to work in my aunt’s brothel still in my pyjamas._ No way Roy was saying that out loud. “It’s a long story. I’m just going home to change.” He peered up at the suit of armor again, “...Are you Ed’s brother?” 

“Yes,” the suit of armor nodded. “My name is Alphonse Elric. But you can call me Al.” 

The voice coming from the suit of armor sounded remarkably young. Like the kid was still waiting for his balls to drop.

_But Al’s problems are a bit -- above your paygrade? Plus he’s only fourteen._

“Were you tailing me, Al?” 

The suit of armor nearly blushed and it was only when Al (the suit of armor) raised one hand to defend himself that Roy realized that his other arm was cradling a shopping bag with what looked like salad onions peeking out over the top,. “No! I really wasn’t, please don’t misunderstand. I just saw you while I was shopping and…” 

Roy sighed, “I believe you.” 

Al said, “Thank goodness.” Then he added, “So do you have a moment, Captain? I want to speak to you.” 

 

_Madame Christmas actually bolted the door in the officers’ faces, much to their surprise and Roy’s own. He followed his aunt into the kitchen where he watched her put on the kettle in the old fashioned way, by striking a match and then lighting the stove. There was something ominous about the whole thing and he found one of his hands curling around her sleeve._

_“Why are they here for me, Madame Christmas? Am I in trouble?”_

_His aunt always seemed imposing to Roy. Like some sort of fortress, like Briggs up north, which Roy had read about. But now she seemed different. Now, she seemed like a woman with years and years squeezed into her at once and life was rushing out of her and suddenly she seemed old._

_“No Roy, you’re not in trouble. But the Military have found out that you’re an alchemist. And a pretty good one too.”_

_Roy clenched his fists, “Because of my father?” Usually, he would have glowed at the compliment, now it just buzzed by him like air._

_“Your father was a talented alchemist, yes,” she nodded. “But I suspect that it’s more to do with the fact that we’ve not had to pay a heating bill in months. I did tell you not to cheat.”_

_“It wasn’t cheating!” Roy flared, “I was helping out!”_

_“So you were,” Madame Christmas assented, but not in a convincing way. “But that’s not important now. What is important now is that the military is here for you, Roy. And you have a choice to make.”_

_“I don’t want to be a State Alchemist,” said Roy. He didn’t even have to think about it._

_“That is your right too,” a heavy hand rested on his shoulder, “But you also have to think about what I can offer you. I run a brothel, Roy. That is no place for you. Maybe if you were a less discerning boy.”_

_“I’m not a boy,” Roy said, planting his feet stubbornly._

_“No, you’re not.” The kettle had began to whistle, tinny and loud, filling Roy’s whole head to the brim and he wished not for the first time that he could hurt. “You stopped being a boy ten minutes ago.”_

_Tears, white hot like fire that he summoned with a click of his fingers from his fingers rushed to his eyes and Roy squeezed his eyes shut, “Sorry.”_

_She folded him in, and Roy took refuge in the softness of her belly; he hadn't done anything like that, since he'd come to live with her, “Don’t be sorry. But I want you to remember something.”_

_“I’ll remember.”_

_“Never tell them your secret,” said Madame Christmas, and she squeezed the back of his neck enough to hurt. But Roy only knew that because he nearly stopped breathing._

 

“You want to talk to me,” Roy fixed Al with a probing look. 

“It isn’t about anything bad,” the suit of armor dipped his head towards his shoes also made out of armor. “But I’d rather do it in private. If that’s okay.” 

“Did Hughes put you up to this?” 

“The Lieutenant Colonel?” 

“Yeah, that one,” Roy shrugged. 

“He worries too much for us,” said Al. “But no, he didn’t tell me to do anything.” He raised his arm with the shopping bag, “This is from Mrs. Hughes’s shopping list.” 

Roy didn’t know if he believed that, but he really didn’t want to cause a scene by attempting to set a suit of sentient armor on fire or losing his shit at it (Al). 

“I’m going home to put my milk in the fridge,” Roy said. “Come on, this way.” 

 

“Do you want a cup of tea or something?” 

“I’m a suit of armor,” said Al as if it wasn’t completely obvious. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Roy put all of his shopping away and made himself a cup of coffee. He needed one. Al seemed content to watch Roy bustle around the house and Roy tried to remember the last time he’d ever seen a fourteen-year-old brat sit so still. 

“What did you want to talk about?” 

“I really wasn’t stalking you,” said Al. “It’s just. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes has a picture of you in his living room. I recognized you. I think it was taken at his wedding.” 

Roy winced. He’d indeed been at Hughes’s wedding playing the star role of the best man. Another secret that he’d carry to the grave: he had lost the rings before the ceremony and had to hurriedly transmute new ones as Gracia Hughes was being escorted down the aisle. 

“I already said I believe you,” Roy said. “Either say what you want, or don’t. I have things I should be doing.” 

Al seemed surprised by his bluntness, but then he seemed to recover, “We tried to transmute our mother.” 

That made Roy swallow a larger gulp of coffee than he’d intended to and a weird burning sensation made its way down his throat. “But that’s.” 

“I know. I was human once,” Al nodded. “And my brother used to be whole.” 

Roy put down his coffee cup, “You don’t sleep.” 

“I can’t.” 

“But now Ed can’t either,” Roy said. “He’s said you like that he keeps you company.” 

Al seemed to hiccup, “That’s not my fault.” 

“I never said it was, Al.” Roy pressed a hand against his throbbing temple. “I was just saying that. That it’s...difficult to know what to do. Hell, half the time, I don’t know either.” 

“Can I have some pills?” said Al.

Roy stared at him, “...What?” 

“Those pills you gave Ed. I want to see if they work on me.” 

“Well, then tell him to share,” said Roy. He was getting the feeling that this wasn’t going to end well and a certain Maes Hughes was going answer for a lot. “You had your pick of things and pain’s what you go for?” 

“It’s easy,” said Al. “It’s the one thing I remember, you know, during the ritual. Things kept hurting. I got taken apart, put back together, and pain’s the common denominator. You’re trying to go back there too, aren’t you?” 

Roy flexed his fingers, and fueled by _why not_ and sullied notions of drug awareness, he whaled a punch at Al’s very armored head. It connected, Al gave a surprised sort of squeak as his head flew clean off and scratched the top of the coffee table before it landed nearby. 

Al’s body was hollow. Roy went to fetch Al his head. 

“Why did you do that?” 

“I was trying to rearrange your brain, you know, so that it takes in this thing called _logic_ ,” Roy said. “But seeing as how you don’t have one, that’s a moot point. I’m not going to give you any.” Roy had _limits_. Ed had already potentially mangled one of Roy’s long-held beliefs and he was not going to hollow himself out again for Al. 

“Besides, the pills are not going to work for you.” 

“Why?” said Al. 

“Because they work by stimulating nerve endings,” Roy said. “It’s like flipping on a light-switch. You don’t have any switches.” If Roy was playing around with these things to try to rejuvenate the fried bits of his own nerve endings, then someone like Alphonse Elric was really a lost cause. 

Al seemed to deflate, “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” 

“The world is kind of full of shit,” said Roy; he doubted either Al or Ed needed to be told that, but maybe he was obliged to remind them. “I’d get used to it. Even admitting that things are hopeless means that you're still waiting around for something better.”


	4. The Fire

Roy didn’t end up having lunch. He ended up crawling up to the attic and dreaming of war. By the time he woke up, it was nearly six in the evening and he made a half-hearted start on a glass cabbage stew with pork loin with spices that had probably been in Madame Christmas’s cabinet for something like a million years. But they still smelled okay, pungent and strong and Roy figured that if he was sick over those spices, he could man up and handle a little vomit. 

While the stew was bubbling, he rang Hughes again and got Elicia. Whatever swears that Roy was holding at the tip of his tongue, he swallowed, and asked if her father was home. 

“Daddy isn’t home, he said he was working late today.” 

“Ah,” Roy thought for a minute. There was always the option of ringing Hughes at the office and bugging him there. The option was tempting, but then Roy remembered, “...Never mind. Is Ed home?” 

“He is.” 

“...Can I speak to him?” 

“Okay! I’ll go get him,” the phone dropped with a clatter at the other end but Roy could still make out Elicia calling for Ed. Uncle Roy was on the phone for him. 

“Who the fuck is Uncle Roy?” was Ed’s greeting. 

“It’s me, Roy fucking Mustang,” Roy said. “Hi, Pipsqueak.” 

“I’m not --” Ed bit out, and then seemed to think better of it. “I’m sorry if I didn’t put it together that ‘Roy fucking Mustang’ was ‘Uncle Roy.’ It’s not like you’re very Uncle-ish.” 

“I guess I’m not,” Roy could admit to that. It cost him nothing. He crossed over to the stove and checked on the state of his stew. It was bubbling and smelled good. His stomach made a noise in agreement. 

“Someone’s hungry,” said Ed. There was something in his young voice that sounded muddled and smug. 

“Bite me, I’ve not eaten all day,” Roy said. “So you might be interested to know that your brother accosted me in the street earlier.” 

There was a very long pause, “...Al did?” 

“Yes, guess what he wanted.” 

Ed was quiet again, “Hey, Captain Mustang.” 

Because it was his habit to remind everyone that he wasn’t in the military anymore, Roy almost did that again. But there was something in the way Ed said his name that gave him pause. 

“Can we meet?” 

“Now?” Roy’s hunger made him not particularly amenable to going out. He was beginning to suspect that he liked feeling hungry because hunger was an itch in its own right, that nagged at his whole body, reminding him that he was not so unlike anyone else. “Now’s not great.” 

“I’ll come to you. Unless you’re at work.” Oh, so the kid did listen.

Roy suddenly wished he was. At work, things were simple. He put on a mask, read special stipulations affixed to clients’ contracts, explained what seemed confusing, and then made sure they had a good time. Or at least, he made sure they had the time that they’d paid for which was sometimes indiscriminately terrible no matter how much Roy wanted to spin it in his head. But hey, whatever brought in the dough. 

“I’m at home,” said Roy. “I’m just about to have dinner; if you’d like, come hungry.” 

 

_”I can rescue them!” Roy dug his elbow into his aunt’s side. “I can rescue them and get them out! Let me go!”_

_Aunt Chris, who was sometimes named after Santa Claus, probably because she was so huge, only held him tighter. “Don’t be an idiot, Roy. You won’t make it. Stay still.”_

_“You’re a monster,” he kicked at her shin and she actually made a noise. Then she turned him around by his shoulders and his aunt actually whaled him one good across the face. The force of the blow knocked Roy back onto his butt and there was an odd sensation near his jaw. He touched at the spot and it was tender but it didn’t hurt._

_“I will not allow you to become your father,” she towered over him. “Do you understand me? Now, let’s go.”_

_The flames gave away to billowing columns of dark smoke and it was like he was watching some sort of old film, a moving photograph, of men in uniforms shouting, and a State Alchemist or two aiming blasts of cold water at what used to be Roy’s house._

_Someone, who looked haggard, important and confused, was shouting, everything about him was askew and off-center: “Any sign of The Flame Alchemist and Laura Mustang? I want to see them right away!”_

_Roy clicked his fingers and a small flame appeared above his thumb. He blew it out and reached for his aunt’s outstretched hand._

 

To Roy’s surprise, Ed didn’t turn up empty-handed. He turned up with a bottle of nice beer from one of the newer breweries that had just set up shop not that long ago in Central and two pieces of apple pie wrapped up in baking paper. 

“That’s from the Lieutenant Colonel,” said Ed, gesturing to the beer, “and that’s from Mrs. Hughes. It was left over.” 

“Thanks,” said Roy. He weighed the bottle of beer in his hand and looked at Ed again, “Do you want some beer?” 

“Whatever happened to ‘you can’t drink and you can’t fuck, you’re a kid?’” Ed cocked a brow. 

“I said do you want some beer, not do you want a fuck,” Roy reminded him with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

“Then yeah, I’d like some beer, thanks.” 

Roy fetched two glasses from the cabinet and filled them both up halfway. “Here.” 

“Stingy,” Ed said. 

“I need something to help me go to bed, later,” said Roy and the kid’s expression turned like fruit just about to rot. He wished he hadn’t said it. “Anyway, there’s stew. Bread, butter, I went shopping.” 

Ed helped himself gingerly to a bowl, ended up devouring it in record time while Roy was still about three bites in. 

“Can I have seconds?” 

“If you’d like,” Roy nodded. 

“You know,” Ed said with his mouth full, “You’re full of surprises. Drug dealer, hooker, war hero, chef.” 

“I am not any of those things,” said Roy. Exactly three of those things were galling in particular. Given time, Roy didn’t think he would mind being a chef. Mustang’s Diner had a certain ring to it. 

“Yeah?” Ed chewed and swallowed. He took a swig of beer and wiped his mouth. “I read about you, in the papers. The Firebrand Kid. If you turned up anywhere you gave the Ishvalans hell and we always won. There was talk about promoting you to Major, or even Colonel, right? But then you retired.” 

“I was twenty-three, hardly a kid.” Roy said, “And I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Ed stilled, “Look, about Al.” 

“I do want to talk about that,” Roy sighed. “What did you tell him?” 

Ed’s eyes slid down into his lap, “I took what you gave me. I hurt, and then I slept. He must have heard me...screaming. Like he hasn’t heard me scream for a very long time. Like I was a living person.” 

“Do you not feel like you’re a living person?” 

Ed continued not not look at him and in spite of himself, Roy reached for the bottle of beer and poured the kid more. Ed drank and there was a bit of froth near his mouth. 

“He must have told you about what we did,” Ed said. 

“If he didn’t, I did punch him in the head and it flew clean off. I’m sure I would have figured it out eventually.” 

“Are you disgusted?” 

Roy was surprised by the question and decided he needed more beer, “I’m -- was, I was a soldier for a decade, Ed. I went to war. Very few things disgust me.” 

“But you’re retired,” Ed pressed. 

“I didn’t want to die, so I retired,” Roy told him. It was the closest thing to the truth he could manage. “And as you’re so keen to remind me, I do work in a brothel. Let’s not talk about what I get to see there.” 

“But not as a hooker,” one corner of Ed’s mouth lifted. “And that’s what you’re sticking with.” 

“Taking it with me to the grave,” Roy said. “Do you want some pie?” 

 

After they’d polished off Gracia Hughes’s apple pie (Ed had most of Roy’s), Ed sat on the couch and fished out one of the pills from his jacket. He held it up to the light, seemingly admiring its translucent amber color. 

“If you take one here,” said Roy. “Then your brother won’t have to hear you scream. You can just go to sleep when you get back to Hughes’s place.” 

“I’m fifteen,” Ed glanced at him sideways. “You don’t want anything to do with me.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Roy said. “I’m also thinking of poor Elicia and Gracia, who you probably keep up all night when you make a racket.” 

“You’re not going to make this into a moral issue, are you? And I can’t help but notice that the Lieutenant Colonel isn’t on your list.” 

“First off, he can rot,” Roy shrugged. “Second, Hughes doesn’t count because I know he can sleep like the dead. I roomed with him at the academy. And don’t talk to me about morals. Third, I never, ever want your brother showing at my doorstep wanting something like this ever again. Do you understand?” 

“Crystal clear, Captain,” Ed saluted him and plucked Roy’s glass of beer out of his hand and swallowed the pill with the dredges of his drink. 

 

_”That’s enough,” said Knox. “If we keep going your body won’t be able to stand it. I’m pulling medical privilege. We’re done.”_

_“I’ve not even started,” Roy said. The only feeling he could ascertain on his person was the very cool metal restraints that held his wrists and legs in place. “It’s just a bit warm. I can take it. I thought you said you’d help me.”_

_“I said I would help you, but I’m not a mad scientist.”_

_Roy made a noise in his throat. “What we’re doing isn’t mad. So long as I can fucking take it.”_

_“You can take it maybe,” Knox twisted Roy’s chin unkindly and made him stare a beeping screen that presumably showed Roy’s vitals. Roy was no doctor, but he was pretty sure a person’s heart was not supposed to beat that fast. “...But your body won’t. You’re technically coding right now. How are you even conscious?”_

_“My fingers do feel a bit numb,” Roy mumbled and then his vision blurred at the edges._

_“ -- Mustang? Mustang, stay with me goddamn it, Roy!”_

 

If they were ever doing this again, Roy was investing in some top-grade earplugs. Perhaps the likes of those worn by artillery operators. Edward Elric had quite a pair of lungs on him and boy could the kid scream. His fingers dug into the rough leather of the couch and continued belting one out. Veins stood out in his neck and sweat threaded through his hair. 

“Hey! Hey, open up in there!” Somewhere in Roy’s peripheral senses, he was aware of someone banging on the door. Fucking fantastic. He clicked his fingers and Ed’s next scream cut off abruptly. 

“ -- Wha?” Ed croaked out. 

“Don’t you dare move,” Roy sighed and went to the door. 

There were two burly military guys standing on the doorstep and Roy was pretty sure one of them was a regular of Petra’s at the brothel even if he wasn’t a hundred percent on it. They seemed just as surprised to see him. 

“Captain Mustang. We uh,” one of them rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “We received a noise complaint from several nearby addresses. Something about a kid screaming.” 

“There’s nobody here,” said Roy. “Just me.” 

They looked at him, and Roy knew that they were trying to figure out if he was up to anything funny. He didn’t think he looked like he was mid-coitus or anything, even if he was dressed in casual clothes. The worst of it was Roy probably smelled a bit like beer. That was hardly anything. 

“Can we come in and look around?” 

“No,” said Roy. He stepped forward, in a more deliberate attempt to block the door. “I’ll pay the fine for the complaint. And then I think you should be on your way. Come on, spit it out. How much?”


	5. The Darkness

The fine ended costing Roy about everything he had in his pocket, which he was glad for because he hadn’t want to move away from the door to fetch more coin. It was more than he remembered, but then, most senior staff were still being paid too much; somebody somewhere was probably desperate to make up the difference. The men left without further fuss and Roy bolted the door before he returned to his living room. 

Ed still lay unmoving on the couch. His breathing was shallow and Roy put a hand against the boy’s heartbeat. A bit quicker than Roy was expecting, so in a way, the military goons had come at the right time. 

“And you’re telling me the last time you did this nobody called in a noise complaint,” Roy said. 

“Nobody cares what Hughes gets up to, he’s a big gun, isn’t he?” Ed shrugged, “No one came to the house.” 

Roy made another mental note: he was sure that Hughes would be interested to know that half of Central probably thought he was a great big pervert. 

“Can we do that again?” 

“No,” said Roy. “I mean, I can activate the pill again, but you’ll probably go into cardiac arrest. And maybe it’s just me, but I really don’t want military randoms back here ransacking my house and getting the wrong idea if you’re unconscious on my couch.” 

Ed blinked, “What do you mean activate the pill?” 

“It’s made out of ethanol and oxidizer; if you try to ingest any of those things outside of the edible capsule provided to you, you will die,” said Roy. “...Once upon a time, a boy might have found himself a mad scientist. I have complete control. That way these can never be used against me. Goodness knows there are people out there willing to try.” 

Ed said, “Who are you?” 

“Roy fucking Mustang? I’m Uncle Roy once a week, too, kind of.” Roy tried and the kid rolled his eyes. 

“That’s not what I mean,” Ed said. “Why do you have things like this? Why do you barely react when I tell you what I want?” 

 

_”This is Case M047, to decide appropriate Disciplinary Action against Second Lieutenant Roy Mustang. The hearing has commenced at 0900 hours. Present are Second Lieutenant Roy Mustang, his representative Colonel Maes Hughes…”_

_The conference room was small but every seat was taken. There seemed to be very little air in the room and part of Roy wanted to blow the whole thing off. Or up in flames. Quite fucking literally._

_“Could you try to look a little less uh, murderous?” Hughes intoned in his ear. “It’s going to help your cause, promise.”_

_“All rise,” said someone else, and every man stood in unison, like a zoo of well-trained (slightly murderous) monkeys._

_“...What’s the Führer doing here?” Roy blinked, and in that moment, he couldn’t help but not look murderous. It was within the Führer’s remit to attend such hearings if he felt like it, but Roy couldn’t think of a reason that King Bradley would want to -- okay, that was a lie. He could think of several reasons, but none of them led to outcomes that brought Roy any great comfort._

_Roy had never seen the Führer up close, at least, not in recent memory. Only sometimes, during certain ceremonies and from to time in the papers. For obvious reasons, although Roy couldn’t put why into words, Bradley was even more imposing in person. Not only was he a man of considerable height, every corded muscle of his body seemed present and complete._

_“Be seated,” said Bradley and took his seat between two Generals. One liked Roy well enough, the other wanted to see him hang. Maybe the Führer was here to tip the balance. “Except you, Second Lieutenant, I would be grateful if you would remain standing.”_

_“Yes, sir.” Roy didn’t move. He nearly didn’t dare breathe, but he needed to do that to keep on living._

_“I have here in front of me, your service record,” Bradley made a show of straightening some loose leaves obtained from a folder. “I have to say, it’s been interesting reading.”_

_“Führer, if I may --” Hughes held up his hand._

_“You may not,” Bradley stared at Hughes for at least a good minute before Hughes swallowed and wilted. “I appreciate your personal loyalty to Second Lieutenant Mustang, but I believe that the man himself must be heard. After all, if a man fails to defend himself, he is not worthy of being a soldier in the Amestrian Military, however pristine his bloodline.”_

_“My...bloodline?” Roy said. “I don’t --”_

_“Your father was Louis Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, was he not?” Bradley said. “He burned to death in his home, but you were spared. How old were you?”_

_“Seven,” said Roy, willing himself not to mumble. “Nearly eight.”_

_“He was an extraordinary alchemist,” Bradley spoke, but it hardly seemed like he was speaking to a rapt audience. It more looked like he was musing aloud. “Your father and I were friends, did you know that?”_

_“I,” Roy kept his eyes straight ahead to avoid looking into someone’s probing gaze by accident. He was probably not the only one in the room to have noticed that the hearing was going to a very strange place. “I remember you came over to play chess with my father. A couple of times. He said you were good.”_

_“So I am,” said Bradley. Roy didn’t get the sense that he was bragging; it was simply true. The upside of this, was that Louis Mustang was indeed very good at chess himself and complained to Roy’s mother about not having a suitable opponent. It was on the back of those conversations that King Bradley, Führer of the entirety of Amestris had started showing up for dinner. Not too often, but Bradley was prominent enough of a dinner guest that Roy remembered him being there. After dinner, the men would adjourn to the study to play chess. Roy was sometimes allowed to join them, if he was quiet._

_“Do you remember Zugzwang, Roy?”_

_The use of his given name surprised him, and also everyone else._

_“Just about,” Roy said. “When one player’s position would be compromised by moving forward and continuing the game. But of course, he has to.” It was a threat if he’d ever heard one and he knew he had to consider his next steps very carefully._

_Or else._

_“Do you know why your father could never beat me at chess, Roy?”_

_Roy simmered, but held still, “I don’t know, sir. I mean, Your Excellency.”_

_“He was reckless with his pieces,” said Bradley. “As if he didn’t know their value. It struck me as odd.”_

_Roy felt like baring his teeth, like some sort of common guard dog. In the end, he didn’t. There was, after all, a time and place. But he suddenly felt uncommonly cold, as if all of the fire usually quite close to the edge of his fingertips had left him at the merest existence of the words out of Bradley’s mouth._

_“Don’t you dare speak of him that way,” Roy growled, low in his throat, and Hughes looked like he’d rather bash his head against the nearest hard surface. There was a collective intake of breath, as if the rest of room also wanted to make clear to Roy that he’d done something incredibly_ stupid _._

_“Roy, maybe you should take a breather,” said Hughes. He looked at the others sitting alongside Bradley at the table and no one looked at him, “Can we adjourn for fifteen? Please?”_

_But Roy was seething, the odd coldness that had overtaken the edges of limbs briefly again felt white-hot like he was some sort of live-wire._

_“ -- Clear the room,” Roy said. “If you do that, Your Excellency, I’ll show you that I’m nothing like my father. And you take it back. What you said about him.”_

_Bradley’s usually impassive face was marred by a moment of surprise; he seemed impressed or taken by Roy’s outburst, “Very well. Clear the room.” He gave a wave of his hand and everyone murmured with uncertain activity._

_“Has everyone suddenly gone deaf? I said to clear the room,” Bradley repeated. And at last, people began to file out of the room. Their footsteps left heavy dread on the floor, which Roy tried hard to ignore._

_Hughes said, “This is suicide. If you do this, your career as a State Alchemist is over, Roy. I hope you know that.”_

_“I know exactly what I’m doing,” said Roy. He took off his gloves, and his blood sang with anticipation in his veins. “And this is the furthest thing away from suicide.”_

 

“I thought you wouldn’t ask questions as long as I helped you,” Roy said. Ed was picking at the end of his blond braid. “Hey. Look at me.” 

“How can you not be disgusted?” Ed burst out. “It’s all I can _think_ about.” 

Roy was vaguely reminded of the times when Elicia Hughes was still screaming her head off in diapers. When Hughes had shown up asking if he could take Roy’s couch with beer in hand with a haggard everything. (“Love the kid as I do, but…”) 

“And pain helps you stop thinking about it, does it?” Roy reached out a hand, and then thought better of it. “What you did to your brother. Your mother.” 

“The Lieutenant Colonel said your parents were dead,” Ed said, very quietly. 

“They are dead, yeah,” Roy said. 

“Did you ever think about doing the same thing that I did?” 

“Human transmutation?” Roy was only vaguely surprised by the question. He had to admit he’d never thought about it, “It. I suppose if my parents had been different people, it might have occurred to me.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Ed said. He sank sideways down on the couch again with his feet on the floor. Despite himself, Roy reached for the boy’s boots and undid his buckles. Then Roy put Ed’s feet up on the sofa and stood. 

“I’m going to get something stronger to drink.” 

“Can I have some?” Ed peered at him. “Feel free to say no.” 

“Happy to,” Roy told him. “You can’t have any.” 

“Hey --” 

“You can have the last of the beer, I’ll bring it out.” 

 

Roy kept some top-grade Xingnese sweetlily liquor by his mattress. The bottle, though over a year old, was still about three-quarters of the way full, because it was sickening sweet, kind of like overripe fruit, so he never drank it to excess. He supposed he could always let Ed have a sip of that to caution him against heavy drinking. But then Roy had to remind himself that the trick wouldn’t have worked on him at fifteen, so he abandoned the idea. 

After traipsing downstairs again with a shallow glass in hand, Roy refilled Ed’s glass with beer and went back into the sitting room. 

“Here you go,” said Roy.

Ed nodded, “Thanks.” He took the glass in hand and looked set to swallow the whole thing in one go, but then caught Roy’s reproachful look and only took a sip. “...What are you drinking?” 

“Xingnese sweetlily,” Roy poked the glass at him, “You can smell it.” 

Ed did, and wrinkled his nose, “It stinks. Smells like something you’d use in cooking.” 

“It’s used predominantly in Xingnese food,” Roy told him. “The weird sweetness does something to their spices and really wakes things up. It’s gaining popularity in Amestris, too.” He took a sip and put down his drink, “But it is terrible to drink.”

“But you’re drinking it.” 

Roy shrugged. “I don’t want to get drunk.” 

“But you want something stronger to drink.” Ed frowned at him, “I -- what? That makes no sense.” 

“Nothing makes sense.” 

Ed made a noise in his throat that almost sounded like agreement and he stared up at the ceiling. Finally, he said, “...How’d your parents die?” 

Now, this was surprising, “You mean you don’t know?” 

“I mean, it’s a bit before my time,” Ed looked towards Roy now a little bit sideways, “Old man.” 

“I’m only twenty-five,” said Roy, only slightly nettled. It was a bit of a comfort and also galling to have it from a reputable source (in as much someone like Edward Elric could be reputable) that the Amestrian State Military had a short memory. But then, he supposed that they had to. Otherwise, how could anyone bear to live? “But...I guess you have a point. It was big deal when it happened, though.” 

“If you tell me,” said Ed, “I won’t ask what’s wrong with you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Ed shrugged and offered nothing else. 

“My parents died in a fire when my house burned down,” Roy said. “I was out with my aunt. There was an investigation afterwards and it was concluded that my mother had left on the stove.” 

“But?” 

“My father was Louis Mustang, the Flame Alchemist,” Roy said. “He was instrumental in this country’s expansion. He got sent everywhere, if a mess needed cleaning up. They whistled and there he was like some kind of dog. I never saw him much.” 

Ed’s eyes widened, “But that means...Roy, that’s.” 

Ed called him Roy, not Captain Mustang. Roy felt a strange stutter in his blood, “Yeah. No one knows anything for sure, of course. And what’s on the books is...well, the stove. No sense in one man making the Military look bad. You know what I mean?” 

“But that’s _horrible_ ,” Ed burst out. “Why are you not more _angry_? Your old man just upped and left because --” 

“Because?” 

Ed swallowed, “There is something really wrong with you.” He swung his legs off the couch and stood up in his socked feet. It didn’t take him but a few steps to get to where Roy was and Roy swallowed too.

Then Ed leaned forward, and Roy felt a telling weight on his shoulder, “There is something _really wrong_ with you.” A second time, as if the kid was warding himself against something. 

“Yeah, there is,” but Roy stayed very still.


	6. The Missing

Ed’s hair smelled nice, Roy was dimly aware of this. The scent was unobtrusive but somehow fresh and almost comforting. He was also conscious, of the bolt to the front door being unlocked and then the front door opening --

“Roy? You home?” 

Roy shoved Ed away from him by instinct. He didn’t think he shoved the kid particularly hard, but he must have caught Ed unawares because he landed on his ass on the hardwood floor and swore, “ -- Fuck!” 

Roy could feel his blood pressure rising by several notches and the rise continued exponentially when his worst fears materialized in the form of Madame Christmas standing in the hall, staring into the living room. 

“Uh, yes. I am, home,” the reasonable part of Roy knew very well that he wasn’t in any sort of trouble really, but the brothel had been raided a few times in recent months upon suspicion of underage workers, but Roy had been there to stop the attempts every time because being an integral part of the Ishvalan War apparently still meant something to some people -- namely, the right people. “...Hello, Madame Christmas, I’m uh, surprised to see you home.” 

“I gathered that,” she said, so dry you could set wood on fire. Roy could see her taking in the scene: Ed on the floor; Roy stiff as a board in the armchair; and finally, the shallow glass of Xingnese sweetlily liquor and Ed’s half drunk beer. 

Also Ed on the floor; dressed, but most definitely caught by surprise. 

Ed finally picked himself off the ground and straightened up. He walked towards Madame Christmas, actually extended his hand, and Roy wanted to _die_. 

“You must be Roy’s aunt, Madame Christmas,” Ed said and there was something suddenly more grown-up about him, something that reminded Roy that the kid was a State Alchemist, after all. “I’m Edward Elric. Me and my brother are boarding with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.” 

“I see,” said Roy’s aunt, as impenetrable as Briggs herself. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Edward Elric.” 

“Yeah, Hughes is fucking off his babysitting duties,” said Roy, drinking the rest of his Xingnese liquor. He wished he had the foresight to pour more. 

“Fuck you too,” said Ed. And then he said, “I’ll be leaving. Still up for dinner this week? Mrs. Hughes was asking.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be over,” Roy nodded. 

“I’ll tell her,” Ed said. He managed to make it to the door and open it before he doubled back. Roy wondered for a second, whether the kid was really that intent on fucking him, but then he spotted Ed’s boots still by the sofa. 

“Your shoes,” said Roy, feeling his aunt’s stare so keenly on the whole of his person it might as well be eye-watering pain. 

“...Sorry.” What followed was the excruciating exercise of watching Edward put on his shoes. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt to Roy like prolonged hours. 

 

After Ed had gone, Madame Christmas went and took off her shoes and hung up her jacket. Roy suddenly really needed the toilet, even though he didn’t think he’d drunk all that much. Still, he didn’t dare move. 

It was only when she’d come to sit down on the couch, that Roy burst out with, “...I don’t want you to misunderstand anything, Madame Christmas, I was just.” 

“Feeding the kid beer?” She supplied. 

“I did check the alcohol content,” Roy hedged; he hadn’t, but he’d been around beer long enough to know that it hadn’t tasted too strong, and it would have been simply cruel of Hughes to have Ed bring over a beer he couldn’t drink. Roy didn’t think Hughes would do that. 

Kind of. 

“I wished I’d caught you naked with someone more… can we go with eligible?” said Madame Christmas. “At least then maybe I can entertain the notion of grandchildren.” 

Roy sighed, “Do you actually want them?” The idea of partaking in -- that. He’d rather not. But then he would rather not do a lot of things and still ended up fucking doing them anyway. 

“No,” Madame Christmas said; the breath she let out was a more of a sigh, this time, “But I need you to be above board, with whatever you’re...doing. With this kid. Your status within the military will wane one day, and then the bar might really be in trouble. Perhaps that’s a selfish thing for me to say.” 

“Ed -- I mean, the kid and I aren’t doing anything,” Roy said, telling the truth, and yet at the edge of his nose was still the weird smell of Ed’s hair. “Honest. So if that’s what you worried about, don’t.” 

Madame Christmas fixed him with a stare so steady that Roy wanted to follow that gaze and slowly steadily melt onto the floor. But at last she looked away, “I believe you.” 

He’d never been so fucking relieved in his life. 

“I did make some stew with some pork and glass cabbage,” said Roy. “Please have some, should be plenty left. You never eat.” 

“Tell you what, I’ll do you a trade,” she said, and Roy was terrified all over again, “I’ll have some dinner if you’ll go out. Not to the bar, but somewhere else. You’re not scheduled to work the next two days and I meant what I said. You need rest.” 

What she really meant was that Roy needed to go out and get laid. But that was too odd to say to her nephew and also, Roy wasn’t stupid and she didn’t need to spell it out for him. 

“That’s really what you want me to do?” 

Madame Christmas picked the glasses and took them into the kitchen, it was a clear sign of dismissal, “Yes, that’s really what I want you do.” 

 

_”What’s it like?”_

_Riza Hawkeye had taken off her clothes before she’d come to bed there were tattoos scarred on her back. They were done crudely and not kindly, as if someone was in a hurry. Roy felt bad for her, even if he couldn’t sympathize in the usual way, “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”_

_“Try,” she said, and kissed him. It was nice, but then the feeling whittled out like a damp match and he knew that today wouldn’t work either. Still, Hawkeye was a remarkably persistent person and she seemed to really not mind, this odd experiment of theirs. They called it an experiment, because obviously what they were doing did not meet the guidelines for fraternization. Everyone knew what that looked like and no one knew what to make of this. It also helped because no one knew that this was happening._

_“It’s like if you met a cripple, I guess,” Roy touched her face and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, “Without eyes, without his right arm, and asked him what it was like. Do you remember your life without these?” By “these,” he meant the pictures on her back._

_“Just barely,” Hawkeye told him and only flinched a little, as if even with only his words, Roy had inadvertently dug his fingers into her tattoos, “It didn’t feel particularly important then; I didn’t have anyone to get naked for, back then.”_

 

Roy went upstairs and changed into nicer clothes. A freshly laundered shirt, a light gray vest and dark slacks. He told himself that this was another work day and that he wasn’t exactly lying to Madame Christmas. 

Afterwards, he went down and said good-bye to Madame Christmas, who was ladling some of his stew into a bowl; Roy also remembered to informed his aunt that he’d brought fresh milk and butter. 

All in all, it was a nice night, even if the darkened sky above was smoggy with light as usual. The air was warm and Roy didn’t smell rain coming. Although he was told not to go to a bar, he went to one anyway and ordered more beer. The Xingnese sweetlily still stained his tongue and made him not enjoy his pint very much. When the barmaid smiled at him with her smoke-black teeth, Roy nearly threw his alcohol back up. 

Yeah, this was shaping up to be a great night, Roy could already tell. 

 

The guards at the gates had to take a minute to recognize Roy in his civilian clothes, but they saluted him and let him through without further fanfare. He was reminded then, of what his aunt had said not two hours before -- that Roy was waning. Rather, his status was. The realization felt odd, as Roy had endeavored to run away from such responsibilities. 

Now, he was grasping at straws. 

It was always strange being back, but it was also familiar. He had, after all, spent a good chunk of his life under the Amestrian Military’s thumb and in some way, Roy supposed he was still in this shit. 

They all were. 

He headed to where her old office was before he remembered that the former Captain Riza Hawkeye was now Major Riza Hawkeye and probably had a bigger office now. Roy wandered around for a couple of more minutes before he spotted a familiar figure bent over a stack of important looking papers. What gave it away was Hawkeye’s studiously-angled spine and the fact that in a row of offices, hers was the only one with the light still on. 

Roy poked his head in but he didn’t knock, “Hello, Major.” 

It took Hawkeye a minute. It looked like she hadn't slept; it was a state of affairs not exactly unfamiliar to Roy, “Mustang?” 

“Last time I checked,” said Roy. “What are you still doing here?” 

“You know what they don’t tell you about promotions,” said Hawkeye. “Is all the fucking paperwork.” 

“I could have told you that,” Roy shrugged. “You just didn’t ask. ‘S why I retired.” 

That was a lie and they both knew it. Finally, Hawkeye put down her pen and rubbed at her eyes, “Okay, I’m asking now. What do you want?”

“I’m,” Roy started. “Can’t I just want to see you?” 

 

_”Is that what you really want me to do? It’s going to hurt.”_

_“I’m prepared for that,” Hawkeye nodded but nothing about her said she was ready. This was the woman that had stuck a gun to the back of his head multiple times during the war, when Roy had tried to stick bones back into dead bodies and spark corpses back to life. As far as he was concerned, Hawkeye was fearless and nothing but fear radiated from her body now, like she was someone else._

_“Hawkeye,” said Roy. “You don’t have to do this.”_

_She looked at him, “Why do you do the things you do?”_

_The question surprised him and then it didn’t, “I don’t want anyone else to end up like me. So I’d rather be alone. Whatever is in my hands. My head, my blood. I was dead before I even started living.”_

_“I’ll be alone too,” Hawkeye said. “So it will be all right. I don’t mind if it hurts. I’ll try not to make any noise.”_

 

Maybe Hawkeye could tell he’d been drinking. She was perceptive like that, “And that’s it? You want to see me for a catch-up over a beer.” 

“We can stick to coffee,” said Roy. “You look too tired for beer. And maybe if you could lend me your sofa. Or I can just curl up here, I’m not picky.” 

“We’ve not seen each other for six months and you want to stay on my couch,” Hawkeye said. “Trouble at home?” 

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Roy nodded. He hoped that she wouldn’t make him say anything more. But then Roy thought of something else, “Unless there’s someone who’d protest about me being, there. On your couch.” 

“The military has strict rules about that,” Hawkeye said, like it was something Roy needed to be reminded about. “No. There isn’t anyone. I’m still alone. Give me twenty minutes? I’ll pack up some of this paperwork to go.”

“Sure,” said Roy. “I think I still remember where the kitchen is. I’ll make you some coffee.”


End file.
